I'm Never Forgetting, Mr Holmes
by lindsey and marie enterprises
Summary: "What do you see?"  "Everything.  That is my curse.  What do you remember?"  "Everything.  That is mine."  By Marie
1. Prologue Part 1

_**Author's Note: Hey, guys! It's Marie. I recently saw **_**Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, **_**and fell in love with it all over again! So, as I watched the movie, something happened: I got a plot bunny. Those things never give me a break! Haha. Well, enough of my rambling; here's part one of the prologue of my new story! Enjoy! By the way, our poll will be on our profile only until January 1**__**st**__**, so vote quickly!**_

**Part One: A Grand Entrance is Always Remembered**

The case seemed to weigh more than normal as I lugged it along with me down the streets of London. I hated walking alone-most of the time-but today I needed to think. Today was very important; everything needed to be perfect.

Which is why the scuffle in the alley I had just passed irritated me. I tried to ignore the numerous sounds of people being punched/groaning in pain, but finally I gave up. Taking a few steps down the alley, I set my precious burden down in a shadow. It was far enough from the fight to prevent it from getting damaged, yet near enough that I could scoop it up as I ran away (if I did).

Thus lightened, I rolled up my coat sleeves and trudged over to the action.

"Oi! What's a lass doin' here?" asked on of the thugs, giving his victim a pretty decent punch to the stomach. The man groaned and attempted a kick.

"Ah, could you please stop injuring this good sir? I need him for an appointment."

The man grunted in reply. "But, perhaps…you can…earn him." His mouth was curved in a sleazy sneer, his hand outstretched. I revealed my concealed weapon-my umbrella-and gave him two pretty decent _whaps_ on the head. This freed the man, and he punched two of the others with ease.

I smirked at the first attacker's pained form crumpled beneath me. "I don't think so." A man grabbed at my head from behind, but I swerved, catching his arm on my umbrella handle and giving it a sharp twist, most likely breaking his ulna and radius. He cried out and withered away. I gave him another tap, just for good measure. Ducking just in time, I swatted another man, then used my umbrella as a bar and slammed him against the wall.

"How many more?" I asked my fighting partner. I never heard the answer because I was thrown to the ground. Grunting, I fumbled for my umbrella, but it was kicked away, and I received two pretty decent punches, one to the right jaw, the other to the abdomen. I tried to stifle a gasp as the assailant punched my ribs again.

"Oh! Excuse me," a voice said above me.

"Take your time!" I gasped. My attacker was lifted away by a foot then punched in the faces. The fracas thus resolved, the last man standing kneeled beside me.

"Are you all right?" He had dark, liquid brown eyes that I almost got lost in.

"Oh, I-I'm all right. I think…I may have a fractured rib or two, and a pretty bad bruise on my jaw. Otherwise, I'm unscathed. What about yourself?"

"Quite fine-" he cut off with a grimace and clutched his side. "I think we could both use a patch job. I know someone perfect for the job, as a token of my gratitude."

I smiled. "Thank you. Just let me get my case." The man smiled and helped me up, favoring his left side. I walked to the shadow from earlier and pulled my case out of hiding. I gave a small snort of frustration at its weight, but I was ready to go.

"Oh, allow me." The man gently lifted the case from me and carried it. "Gracious, my dear! What's _in_ this thing?"

I giggled, "It's my instrument, sir. One of the four I play."

"Ah, a musician! What all do you play-in alphabetical order."

I smiled. "Bassoon, cello, piano, and violin." I gestured to the case. "That is the cello."

"Interesting. And I forgot introductions in the heat of…that." He jerked his head in the alley's direction. "Name?"

"Jane," I replied. "And you are?"

"Strange."

"Your name is Strange…?"

"Oh, no. Your instrument tag does not say 'Jane', it says 'Amelia.' Explanation?"

I sighed. "My first name is Amelia, my middle name is Jane. The orchestra I perform with thought 'Amelia' was more proper, so that's what they put on my instrument tags. I prefer Jane, though."

"Ah. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Jane. I am Sherlock Holmes."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really?"

"The one and only. Ah, here we are." He approached the door, and gave it a rap. "Watson?" he called. The door swung open, revealing the man I'd been needing to see all along.

"Hello, John," I said coolly.

"J-Jane?"

Mr. Holmes looked confused. "You two know each other?"

John nodded. "Of course. She's my sister."

_**A/N: Dun Dun DUN! Surprise! I just love cliff-hangers!**_


	2. Prologue Part 2

_**Author's Note: Hello, dearies! Marie here with the last part of the prologue! A big hug and cookie to musicismylife for reviewing! Please, read, enjoy, and review! Hopefully in that order. :D**_

**Prologue: Part Two**

"She's my sister."

"Twin sister, actually," I corrected. A smile spread on John's face, but it melted to a look of concern.

"Are you all right? What happened to you two?"

"Long story," Mr. Holmes grunted. "Can we come in, Watson?"

"Oh, of course. Come on in, I'll check you two out."

"I'm pretty sure I have a cracked rib, John, and maybe just a bruised cheek. But I don't know about Mr. Holmes here."

"Oh, I'll be fine, Miss Watson. Just a pain in my right side, Watson. And just Holmes, please. You make me feel old."

I smiled. "Of course, Holmes. And just Jane for me. Ow."

"Just a tiny hairline fracture on one of your ribs, Jane. You should be fine, just don't get into any fights any time soon."

"Yes, Doctor," I replied, smiling. "Though your methods helped. Using an umbrella comes in handy."

John smiled. "How many?"

"Three."

"Hm. Fairly decent, baby sister." I rolled my eyes.

"I apologize for getting you involved, Jane," Holmes cut in. "I hope you can just forget that whole…incident."

I sighed. "Unfortunately, Mr. Holmes…I can't." This seemed to interest him. "Well, why not?"

"We're not entirely sure," John replied for me. He's the medical expert, so I let him. "It seems that Jane has…an extraordinary memory. And that's an understatement."

"Ever since I could remember…I never stopped remembering," I said, sounding a bit helpless. "It's hard to explain. Give me a date, and I can tell you everything I did that day, what I wore, what I ate, who I spoke to, and more."

"You remember everything?" Holmes questioned. I nodded, and he continued. "So, if I waltzed up to you and did this…" He backed me into a wall, and, invading my personal space, he…

Wrapped his arms around my waist and hugged me. My head almost buried in his chest, I could hear the rhythm of his heart, faint from the layers of clothes: thump-thump, thump-thump. I could also smell the odor of tobacco that almost overpowered me, and the hint of…rosin?

He finally pulled away. "You'd remember?"

"Until the day my brain stops functioning, which I hope is soon after that experience." I winked at John, which made him relax a little. My eyes strayed back to Holmes. "You play?"

He smiled. "Violin."

I smiled back. "We should play sometime."

"Indeed."

"Together?"

"Of course."

I brushed a little of my brown hair out of my face. "Well, I really should get going."

"It's rather late, Jane. Stay the night, I insist," John put in.

I sighed. "As long as I'm not a burden. I'll help out in any way I can." A mischievous smile spread on Holmes' face. It seemed to say, "Oh, if only you knew."

So began my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.

_**A/N: For some clearance: The "condition" that Miss Jane Watson has is called hyperthymestic syndrome, or just hyperthymestia. The name is based on the Greek word thymesis for "remembering" and hyper, meaning "more than normal." It was discovered/named in about 2006, which explains why Watson doesn't know how to treat it, or exactly what to do.**_


	3. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: Wow! I'm pleasantly surprised! Nine reviews only for the prologue! Whee! I didn't know that it would be taken to so well. But hey, I'm not complaining! Thank you to the reviewers:**_

_**Sugar92: Thank you for thinking so! ^_^ I shall work on that description thing for you, too.**_

_**XXChaoticOrderXx: Thank you for reviewing. **__**J**_

_**WriterMonkey0626: Thanks! :D**_

_**Wolfy: Thank you! Your comment-well, all of them-means a lot! J**_

_**Musicismyhero: Yes, remembering everything WOULD be convenient! However, it has some negatives, and we'll explore that a little later. Thank you for reviewing again! ^_^**_

_**Now, the official chapter one!**_

**Chapter 1**

**Set during **_**Sherlock Holmes**_

With a _swish, bang, _and_ crack_ of doors being forced open, Sherlock Holmes was in the building.

As he tracked down the dark stair and a small floor, I reached my hand out to stop him before he turned a corner.

"I wouldn't go too terribly far," I whispered. "There's a man down there. Fairly nice hat."

A smile quirked on his face. "Hello, there, Miss Watson. How'd you get here so fast?"

I smiled. "Please, Mr. Holmes. I know London like the back of my hand."

"Ah. Point taken. What are we up against?" I peeked at the man as I was the closest to the wall's edge.

"He has a lantern and a gun. He's getting close." We pressed into the wall and remained very quiet.

"Now," Holmes whispered, "you have seen. What do you remember?"

I closed my eyes, concentrating. "His head is cocked to the left. Partial deafness. The pistol is a small caliber." I inhaled a little. "I smell the alcohol from here. Got to be a heavy drinker. So, what's your summary of attack?"

Holmes smiled, eyes closed. "Summary prognosis: conscious in 90 seconds. Martial efficacy: quarter of an hour at best. Full faculty recovery: unlikely."

I smiled. "Show time." Holmes threw his coat over our faces as the thug went by. I could smell tobacco and rosin, as usual. It dissipated quickly as Holmes swung the coat away and emerged from his hiding place, slapping the thug's ear. Next, he slammed his hand into the man's throat, to paralyze vocal chords and stop the screaming. After that, he took my advice with a punch of the floating rib to the liver. Finally, he drug the left leg, connecting fist to patella. The man crumpled to the ground, and Holmes kneeled next to him.

"Care for a hat?" Holmes glanced at me.

I stepped out of my corner, revealing my disguise of black for the evening, complete with a hat. "I'm good."

"Fantastic. Moving along, then." He whipped the hat on his head in one swift motion, grabbed the lantern, and motioned me to follow him down our next obstacle: the winding staircase. I allowed Holmes to take the lead, being he had the lantern. We flew down the stairs with ease, took a left, then hid in the balcony, where we had a good vantage point. I almost gasped at what I saw: a hooded man was chanting in some language-Latin, I think-with his arms raised.

A girl was lying on a slab, twitching and looking rather…sick, I'd say, but that would be an understatement. Some men were around the slab, and a hooded man appeared out of the shadows from behind the pillar he was standing in front of. I gave him a pretty decent study; he could be useful later.

An unfriendly hand on my shoulder really made me gasp, and Holmes twisted on reaction, grabbing the man's nose as another set of hands pulled the thug into a headlock. Thus free (and scared out of my wits) I smiled at the new addition to our company.

"I like the hat," John told Holmes, shifting a little as the man fought.

"I just picked it up," he replied, still pinching the man's nose.

"You remember your revolver?"

"Oh, I knew I'd forgotten something. I thought I'd left the stove on."

"You did," I replied.

Holmes looked at the man John was strangling, letting go of his nose. "I think that's quite enough. You're a doctor, after all." John looked at the now unconscious (and a tad blue) man, and slowly released him, Holmes helping him ease the thug on the ground.

"Always nice to see you, Watson." John smiled, the two men shook hands, scanning the competition as they both removed their hats.

"Where is the inspector?" I asked.

"He's getting his troops lined up," John replied, removing his coat.

"That could be all day," Holmes said sardonically.

And with that, we ventured downstairs, using as much stealth as possible. We broke the silence by using our overall brawling skills, myself using my trusty umbrella again as John used his cane, and Holmes picking up a set of nightsticks. As we approached the slab with the girl and the hooded man, I saw the girl's arm pick up a rather ominous-looking knife, turning it on herself. Holmes, in one swift motion, grabbed the girl's wrist, twisting the knife free. At the same time, all the torches near the area extinguished. I shivered at the sudden change of atmosphere, and John gave my shoulder a brotherly squeeze of comfort while keeping his gun trained on the hooded man.

"Sherlock Holmes," the hooded man said, his voice having an almost…slimy quality. "And his loyal dog. Tell me, Doctor, as a medical man, have you enjoyed my work?"

"Let me show you how much I've enjoyed it," John hissed, moving in towards the hooded man to give a pretty decent beating.

"Watson! Don't!" Holmes cried, stopping John's arm as the hooded man turned around. "Observe," he said softly. Upon close inspection, we found a glass needle, almost invisible, a few centimeters from John's face and protruding from the hooded man's hands.

"How did you see that?" John breathed.

"Because I was looking for it," Holmes said simply, smashing the glass weapon with his nightsticks. I then used my umbrella to slowly remove the hooded man's hood. On reaction, he grabbed my shoulder, studying me. His black eyes were piercing, almost snakelike in his angled face, making it hard to look away.

"Lord Blackwood!" John exclaimed, then he started to move in. "Jane…"

"You seem surprised," the no longer hooded man-Blackwood-replied, still studying me.

I cocked a pistol and pressed it into his temple. "I like my personal space, Lord Blackwood."

"Of course." Blackwood released me but kept his eyes in my direction. "Miss Watson."

"I'd say that the girl deserves your attention more than he," Holmes put in toward my brother," taking my hand to guide me away from Blackwood.

"Indeed," John replied. He went to check on the girl, but not before he gave Blackwood a hard _whap_. "Do _not_ touch my sister again," he warned, then walked away. I turned around to see the inspector coming in, followed by his men. He trained his gun at a man on the floor attempting to reach his own weapon.

"Oh, I'd leave that alone if I were you, boyo. Good lad." The inspector gave the man a rather hard kick as Holmes turned around.

"Impeccable timing, Lestrade." He glanced at the girl and John. "We've one for the doctor…" Then his eyes strayed to Blackwood. "…and one for the rope."

"Clarky?" Lestrade called to his partner.

"Sir." Clarky moved toward Blackwood with handcuffs.

"This woman needs hospital immediately," John half-shouted to the men. "Put her in the back of the maria."

"Right lads, that's it. Come on," Lestrade coaxed as some of the men rushed the girl away as I said a silent prayer for her.

An arm draped around my shoulders. "Are you all right, Jane?"

"Mm-hmm," I replied, looking a Holmes' warm, dark eyes. "Just a little shaken up." Holmes nodded, removing his arm.

"If you don't mind," Blackwood said to Clarky, snatching his now cuffed hands free, hiving him an almost death-stare.

Lestrade's gaze strayed to Blackwood. "Get him out of my sight." Then, he turned to Holmes. "And you were supposed to wait for my orders."

"If he had, you'd be cleaning up a corpse and chasing a rumor," I put in as a little bit of defense, gaining a little more courage after my stare-down with the criminal.

Holmes nodded as he waltzed around Lestrade. "Besides, the girl's parents hired me, not the Yard. Why they thought you'd require any assistance is beyond me."

Lestrade sighed. "Well, London will breathe a sigh of relief."

"Indeed."

"Congratulations, Lestrade," John said.

"Bravo, Inspector," Holmes agreed. "Have a cigar."

A reporter showed up with a camera trained on Holmes and Lestrade.

"Gentlemen…cheese!"

Right as the flash went off, Holmes' right hand covered his face. A strange move, in my opinion.

However, he _is _Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Hello readers! I apologize greatly for the long wait! It made me so sad to read the reviews and not be able to update. But, here I am! Speaking of reviews…**_

A Distant Fan-Thanks! I'm glad you like Jane. She is quite a fun character to write. And I'm glad you liked the first official chapter! I watched the opening the scene of the movie a few times to try to keep that feel in it. And I'm super sorry for the long wait, but here it is!

dance lover-Thank you so much! Here's the update (FINALLY!)

Ravenclaw Slytherin-Thanks1

SeverusDmitri18-:)

XXChaoticOrderXx-Thanks! And here's that chapter you were waiting for!

88dragon06-Glad you're enjoying the story so far! I hope you continue to like it.

Irene Holmes-I'm so glad you like Jane! She is really fun to write, especially her interactions with Holmes J

_**Just a side note; this is deviating from the film…it leaves quite a large hole. This is my take on aforementioned hole. Okay, go read! J**_

**Chapter 2**

The next three months were rather peaceful at 221B Baker Street, since Holmes took no new cases since Blackwood's capture, and we were awaiting his trial.

Which, of course, sparked my curiosity when I heard a rather _awful_ noise coming from Holmes' room one afternoon when I came back to the apartment after orchestra practice. I gave a "care-to-explain-if-you-can" look to Mrs. Hudson, who merely shrugged. I sighed, then ventured to Holmes' room and threw open the door.

He was concentrating-rather hard, I may add-at a piece of music, and for some reason, he was not doing his best in reading it.

I sat my cello case down and planted my hands on my hips. "Sherlock Holmes, what _are_ you doing?"

He whipped around, a smudge of rosin on his nose. "Oh, Jane. I was inspecting this rather old piece I found. I apologize for harming your eardrums in any way; sight reading has never been my forté."

"Don't worry, it's not mine either." I came closer, inspecting the piece and its title. "_Flight of the…_ Oh, Holmes, it goes like this!" I took his bow and violin and went to work, playing one of my personal favorite songs, _Flight of the Bumble Bee. _I smiled to myself as my fingers worked, getting lost in the music that swirled, jumped, flew, and dove off the page.

When I finished, I turned back to Holmes to hand him back his instrument. I had to hold back a laugh, his face was priceless.

"Jane," he began after snapping himself out of his little trance. "Remember when we met?"

I nodded. "Can't really forget things, remember?"

"How many?"

"How many what?"

He sat, thinking for a moment. "Breaths. When I hugged you." I closed my eyes, traveling backwards in time, concentrating for that one thing Holmes had requested of me.

"_So, if I waltzed up to you and did this.." Holmes backed me into a wall, and invading my personal space, he…_

_Wrapped his arms around my waist and hugged me. My head almost buried in his chest, I could hear the rhythm of his heart, faint from the layers of clothes: thump-thump, thump-thump._

One. Two.

_I could also smell the odor of tobacco that almost overpowered me, and the faintest tint of…rosin?_

Three. Four.

_He finally pulled away. "You'd remember?"_

I opened my eyes. "Four and a half. You pulled away in the middle of the fifth one."

He clicked his tongue. "Impressive."

"Thank you." I looked around the room. "Where's John?"

"I don't know."

"Holmes."

"He's your brother."

"I know that…it's kind of hard to forget, since he's my twin."

"That is true…he's either with a patient or the woman."

"The…woman?"

"You know her."

I sat for a moment, thinking. "Mary?"

Holmes snorted. "Oh. Could've sworn her name was Margaret."

"Holmes!"

"What?"

I rolled my eyes. "Never mind." The sound of the door opening got my attention. "That's probably John now."

Sure enough, he walked through the door, his hair a little ruffled and his shirt front was wrinkled. Holmes and I exchanged knowing looks, and I could see the rising smirk on his face.

"Would you like to do something this evening, Holmes?" John quickly changed the unspoken subject-sort of.

"Depends on the outing," Holmes said simply, trying to hide his smirk as I silently laughed behind one of my hands.

"Mary is with her parents, and I have no one to take to the ball."

Holmes sat up a little straighter at this. "For whom?"

John shrugged. "They decided to celebrate the closing of Lestrade's 50th case."

"With our unaccredited help," Holmes snorted.

"Naturally," I quipped. John nodded again, and I smiled, standing up. "Well, if you two will excuse me, I have to go put on something decent." I walked out of the room before sticking my head back in. "You're coming, right Holmes?"

He exchanged looks between John and I before rising. "I suppose one in our party has to know how to dance."

I smiled at them again before hurrying away, eager to see just how much a ball would change when Sherlock Holmes was in attendance.

X X X X X

After making sure I had my hair pinned up just right, I exited my room and picked up the evergreen skirt of my dress a little to descend the stairs. The front of the skirt was gathered at the front, revealing silver underneath. The 3-quarter sleeves were slit in some places to reveal more silver, and the sweetheart neckline was just right for the small emerald pendant that I had just put on.

"Jane?""Coming, John!" I called back, increasing my pace slightly on the stairs, making it down them in one piece-an accomplishment if there ever was one, considering the shoes I was wearing.

John smiled at me in his traditional black and white suit. "You look beautiful."I smiled back at my brother. "Thank you, John." I looked around me, expecting someone else. "Where's Holmes?"

"Here," came the reply.

I turned around as he strode forward…his vest the exact color of my dress, most of his clothing having silver buttons. The vest itself had small slivers of silver marching down it in crisp, uniform lines. with the black coat and trousers he was wearing completing his attire, once could have assumed he and I had planned the whole thing.

Which, of course, we did not.

I saw him blink back surprise. "Great minds think alike."

"Indeed," I replied quickly, elbowing John in the ribs to wipe the smirk off of his face.

"Right then. Shall we?" John strode towards the door, and I could tell he was holding in laughter.

"Jane?"

"Yes?" I turned to Holmes, who had his hand stretched towards me, like a beckoning invitation. A small smile stole upon my face as I accepted his hand, and we walked to the carriage, to a ball that might just change our view on a closed case.

_**A/N: Sorry if it was too short and/or uneventful…and I shall return-hopefully quicker than this one. Reviews help, too. **__**J**_


	5. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: Marie back again! I won't waste any time, just enough to answer reviews!**_

**Asher Knight- **_***blushes* Aw…thanks!**_

**HHopeK143- **_**Thank you so much! And here's the update you wanted!**_

**Ravenclaw Slytherin- **_**Thanks!**_

**xXChaoticOrderXx- **_**He might have…we'll never know. XD**_

**88Dragon06**_**- So glad you like the story! I hope the ball is at least interesting—and not just because Holmes is there.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Sherlock Holmes**_** or any other works, shows, plays, or books hinted to in this chapter.**_

**Chapter 3**

When we got to the ball, I was stunned at all the people that had gotten invitations.

"It looks like half the city of London is in here," I whispered to Holmes as I dusted a little rainwater off my shoulder.

He opened his mouth to reply, but he never got the chance.

"Is that her? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure! Look at her!"

"Oh, yes, it is! Amelia! Amelia Watson!"

I slowly turned around, blinking in surprise as the Anderson triplets raced towards me as fast as their shoes would let them.

"Oh, hello!" I smiled, the girls surrounding me in a whirlwind of skirts, perfumes, black hair, and hairpins.

"How are you doing?" Erica asked, blue eyes shining.

"We haven't seen you in ages!" Evangeline exclaimed, hugging my neck.

"How did you manage to show up here?" Emmaline asked, gently tugging her sisters back.

"I came with my brother, John. You remember him, don't you?" The three women nodded eagerly. "Oh, and his friend, Sherlock Holmes." Holmes smiled and nodded in our direction, clearly wishing to be kept out of the conversation.

With the Anderson triplets, however, that's usually impossible.

The girls swarmed the poor detective, Erica and Evangeline pouring so many questions on him, he looked like he was about to die.

"Erica, Eva, I think we should give Mr. Holmes some room," Emmaline said calmly, saving Holmes from going insane—well, more than he normally is. "We have to talk to _Amelia_ after all."

"Oh, yes!" Erica grinned, turning back to me. "You know that Inspector Lestrade is a big fan Johann B., yes?"

I smiled a little. "I know now." Referring to composers by their first name was a thing the Anderson triplets had started in our orchestra. Johann B., of course, is Bach.

"And he also likes the cello," Evangeline threw in.

"So, we were thinking…what better way than to start the celebration than a little Johann B. on the cello by London's finest?" Emmaline smiled, elbowing me a little.

I fought a blush. "I'm not _that_ good, girls. Besides, I didn't bring my cello."

"Oh, I brought mine." Erica smiled. "I knew you'd try to back out with that excuse."

I sighed. "Fine. Mr. Holmes?" Holmes blinked in acknowledgment, not wanting to get close to the triplets again. "What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Bach—for cello?"

He paused, thinking. "The Prelude to Suite Number 1 in G major," he finally replied.

I smiled in thanks at him before I turned to the triplets. "A chair and a cello?" I asked.

SHSHSHSH

Only once Emmaline Anderson was perfectly happy with where my chair was did the triplets retreat to mingle into the crowd and find Lestrade.

I played with the strings on Erica's cello, slightly bored as I waited for my signal. Holmes and John were standing off from the general knot of people, John worried about losing me and Holmes just scanning the crowd.

Evangeline's sudden wave made me realize that was the "signal." Turning the bow in my hands, I put it to the strings and began.

Not many people would realize this just from listening, but this is the piece most cellists begin on. It's easy to recognize and easy to remember.

Well, that's coming from someone who remembers everything. Literally.

I glanced up every now and then from the strings, looking for people. The Anderson triplets were grinning—of course—Lestrade gently getting to the front of the crowd to find the source of the music, John watching with a small smile on his face, and Holmes…staring.

It's almost strange, seeing Sherlock Holmes' gaze in one spot for so long. My fingers kept moving, almost of their own will, and I finally manage to break away from his eyes and scan the crowd some more. I didn't recognize any more faces, so I continued on, mostly trying to hide my grin from Lestrade's surprised face.

As I neared the end of the piece, I noticed a man in another corner, watching intently. His gaze was a bit…unnerving; almost like an impatient tiger waiting for his prey to get close enough. Once his gaze went away from me, however, I shrugged it off and finished, giving the strings a little tap once I was done.

Lestrade made it over to me as all his guests applauded, helping me out of the chair. "Miss Watson…I never knew!"

I smiled, giving Erica back her cello. "As I didn't know that you liked classical, Inspector."

"Just Lestrade is fine, Miss Watson." Lestrade smiled as John made his way over to us, Holmes following quickly behind him, his eyes glancing all around. "Excuse me, I have guests to attend to. Marvelous performance, Miss Watson. Just perfect."

"Thank you, Insp—Lestrade." I smiled again as a farewell as the man of the evening continued to mingle with guests.

"When was that arranged?" John asked.

"About…ten minutes ago," I replied.

"How did—Andersons."

"You're getting better at guessing, John," I teased, looking at the small orchestra setting up. "I guess Lestrade also enjoys dancing."

"As well as wine," Holmes said, smiling as he carried two glasses in his hands, one of which he handed to me. "Not a bad bottle, if I do say so myself."

"Agreed," I said, swirling the contents of the glass around before taking a small sip, listening to the orchestra warming up. "I think they're…they are! They're about to play _A Postcard for Henry Purcell_!" I smiled, glancing between John and Holmes. "It's one of those dancing songs. Mostly violin; very pretty."

"Then I suppose one should dance to it. Shall we?" Holmes extended his hand toward me, beckoning towards the floor that was quickly filling up with swirling skirts of countless colors.

I glanced quickly at John, still taken aback. "M-Me?"

"Of course, Miss Watson. Come along." Holmes' deep brown eyes sparkled as I placed my hand in his, letting him guide me to a spot on the floor.

"I've never actually danced before," I admitted quietly. "I'm the one the plays the waltzes, not learns them."

Holmes smiled, putting a reassuring hand on the small of my back, placing my hand on his shoulder and threading his fingers through my own. "Just mirror my movements," he whispered quietly before whisking me away; I was perfectly happy to oblige. "I'm sure you can remember them."

"Not entirely, no." I rolled my eyes, smiling a little before I started focusing on the movements as the music bobbed and flowed around us.

"This song, have you ever played it before?" I asked, trying to keep a small conversation as we danced.

"Once or twice." Holmes glanced around the room, all the while guiding me effortlessly between couples. "It's around Baker Street somewhere, if you'd like to dig it back up."

I smiled. "I'd like that." I tried following his gaze, but couldn't manage. "What are you looking at?"

"I saw someone here…he seemed a bit out of place. Can't seem to find him again."

"Well…don't worry about it," I said softly. "You'll find him again—you're the great Sherlock Holmes." I left the statement open, our footsteps almost soundless as we danced, turning in perfect time, just listening to the music.

Holmes finally almost-scoffed. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd." I smiled. "I do know my Shakespeare."

"And me as well, apparently. Why are you so confident I'll find that elusive man again?" Holmes pulled me a little closer so we could speak softer, making my heart skip a beat.

"Well…" I grappled for words, as my mind had suddenly been erased. "Because…I have faith in you. You're a smart man, Mr. Holmes. The smartest man I know. And, typically, smart men get things done." I took a deep breath as his brown eyes searched mine. "I know you can."

He opened his mouth to say something, but the music slowed and stopped. He took a few steps away, his hands sliding from my frame as he bowed, and I curtsied with a small smile on my face.

The orchestra started again, and I heard a voice behind me.

"May I have this dance, Miss?"

I glanced at Holmes, who simply blinked. "It would be rude to say no," he mouthed.

I turned to the mysterious man, smiling as best as I could. "I'd be honored." He took my hand and guided me smoothly to the floor, and the dance began.

The music…I couldn't place the name. It was smooth, dark, almost like the notes were made of pure black silk. Yet, at the same time, they possessed a…strange, ominous quality to them.

"Do I have the pleasure of knowing your name, my lady?" my partner asked, the first words he'd spoken since we'd begun.

"Oh…Jane, Jane Watson."

He smiled. Charming. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Watson. I am Lord Coward."

"Pleasure to meet you, my lord," I replied politely. "And how do you know Inspector Lestrade?"

Coward smiled. "An acquaintance. I know the Yard very well. And yourself?"

"My brother's friend." I didn't say who, for some reason. Something about this Coward seemed…odd. Off.

As we weaved in between couples, Coward began speaking again. "And what is your opinion on the Blackwood case?"

I sighed. "It's…a strange one, to say the least. However, I am glad the culprit got caught. The families of those poor girls can finally breathe easy, knowing that man is put away."

"He won't be for long."

I snapped my gaze back at him. "What do you mean?"

"Lord Blackwood is a powerful man, Miss Watson." I tried following his gaze, but it was constantly shifting. "He cannot be contained by something as petty as an ancient cell."

"Been held so far," I replied, looking for John, or Holmes, or Lestrade…someone familiar. The room's lighting seemed to flicker. I was getting frightened by the way Coward was talking.

"Because he's been planning. The time is near upon us. On the day of—"

Coward didn't get to finish his sentence, for the lights completely went out, thunder loudly booming outside. The doors and windows flung open; little drops of rain flicked in.

The result?

The ballroom erupted into screaming chaos.

I felt something getting pressed into my hand. "Read the instructions carefully," Coward whispered in my ear before he vanished.

It was dark. I felt lost. No one I knew was around me as I was jostled by panicking bodies. _Where are they?_

"Jane?"

"John?" I called, looking around and trying to find the direction of my brother's voice in the growing commotion. "John?" I repeated, my voice escalating.

_Don't panic. Everything's going to be fine; don't panic._

"Jane."

I jumped as I felt Holmes' hand on my shoulder. "Let's go," he said calmly, slipping his hand into mine to guide me through the panicked sea of people; I was more than happy to comply.

"_Jane._"

I turned at the whisper of my name, but I only saw blackness.

SHSHSHSH

"Baker Street, please," John said softly to our driver as we entered the carriage. He flicked the reins as a reply, and we began moving again.

Holmes smiled, looking at the two of us. "That was interesting."

"Well, I'm glad you found it enjoyable," I replied. "I was honestly scared to death. Lesson learned."

"And that would be…?"

"Don't dance with someone you don't know." I glanced down and what had been pressed into my hand, careful not to attract attention as John and Holmes began their own lively conversation.

It was a deep, blood red rose, and an envelope with a _Do not open until this date_ inscription on the front. This was the most specific one I'd ever seen; it even had a time. After studying the date, I realized why.

I was to open it a few hours before Blackwood's execution.

My mind was near bursting with unformed questions, but this was the first clear one that came to the front of my mind:

_Should I open it?_

_**A/N: Sorry about the sappiness, weirdness, and rambling. NEVER writing my own ball scene again. A cookie for whomever caught the BBC's **_**Sherlock**_** nudge. ^_^ Again, SO sorry about the wait! With band, APUSH (AP US History), and Anatomy and Physiology, things get hectic! But I'll try a little harder to whip the next chapter up quick, so posting will be faster! Till next time!**_


	6. Chapter 4

**_Author's Note: Life happened to me. That is all I shall say. _**

Chapter 4

_Two weeks later..._

The sound of gunshots met my ears as I walked up to Baker Street after a long rehearsal.

Worried, I quickly unlocked the door and slipped in, seeing John finishing up his weekly checkup with Captain Phillips while Mrs. Hudson bustled about in the kitchen. Everything seemed rather normal-

_Bang! _

...or not.

"He won't be moving with you, will he?" Captain Phillips asked, looking upstairs.

My brother shook his head. "No, he won't." Turning to our landlady, he cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hudson..."

'I wont go in there by myself-not while he's got a gun in his hand!" she exclaimed, almost vehemently.

I set my case down, smoothing my way in. "You don't need to go in there at all. Here, let John see the paper."

Mrs. Hudson sighed, in almost-relief. "What will I do when the two of you leave. He'll have the whole house down!"

John shook his head, paper in hand. "He just needs another case, that's all."

"Couldn't you have a longer engagement?" she sighed as old Captain Phillips came around the corner.

"I smell gunpowder. This is not right, you know! Not in a domestic environment!"

"Thank you, Captain Phillips," John replied, guiding the older man to Mrs. Hudson. "Perhaps a nice cup of tea...same time next week."

"Come on, Captain. It's quieter downstairs," Mrs. Hudson soothed, guiding him away.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I asked, "Could you bring him something to cheer him up, please?" She gave me a quick nod of confirmation before I followed John to the source of the disturbance.

He sighed for a moment before speaking. "Permission, to enter the armoury."

"Granted," the smooth voice of Holmes replied before firing his gun again. As I walked in, I noticed that he had shot two letters, a V and an R, into the wall. My brother headed to one of the curtains as Holmes continued to speak. "Watson, I am in the process of inventing a device that suppresses the sound of a gunshot. AH!" His loud shout was caused by John ripping two curtains back, letting the sunlight stream into the dusty, smoke-filled room.

"It's not working," he said flatly as Holmes groaned at the sun exposure. "Can I see that?" Willingly, Holmes handed the gun over; John put it on one of the very cluttered tables before starting to sift through letters. "You know it's been three months, since your last case?" He asked as I went over to the fireplace to stop the annoying squeal that was coming from there; I then found something that didn't smell flammable to put the weak flames out.

"Gently," Holmes began, seeing my brother was walking towards the other set of curtains. "Gently, Watson. Be gentle with me. AH!" The loud_thump_ that followed told me that John hadn't been.

"Well, Holmes, don't you think it's time you found another one?" I asked, looking at the paper John had brought up.

Slowly, Holmes crawled out of his hiding place, hair disheveled and eyes wild as he looked to me. "I can't but agree. My mind rebels at stagnation; give me problems, give me work. The sooner the better."

"Paper."

"Thank you."

"Let's see then," John propped up on a desk, sifting through letters as Holmes sat on the floor, opening the paper. "There's a letter here, from...Mrs. Ramsay, of Queenspark. Her husband's disappeared."

"He's in Belgium, with the scullery maid," came the quick reply, his eyes never leaving the paper. "Is it November?" He asked, sounding stunned.

"Yes, Holmes," I confirmed, remembering the unopened letter I still had with me. November, it had said. The date and the time...they were getting close.

"All right; Lady Rathford reports...oh, her emerald bracelet has disappeared," John continued.

"An insurance swindle," Holmes said flatly. "Lord Rathford likes fast women and slow ponies." He tapped the front page of the paper, his eyes brightening for a moment. "Ah, I see you're the attending physician at Blackwood's hanging."

"Yes," my brother said softly. "It was our last case together and I wanted to see it through to the end." The look that crossed over Holmes' face was enough to break my heart. John sighed, looking at another letter as the door opened and closed. "A Mr. Louis-"

"There's only one case, that intrigues me at present," Holmes began, looking to our tea-laden visitor. "The Curious Case of Mrs. Hudson, The absentee landlady. I've been studying her comings and goings and they appear most...sinister."

Mrs. Hudson sighed, looking unamused. "Tea, Mr. Holmes?"

"Is it poisoned, Nanny?" he demanded as she came closer with the tray.

"There's enough of that in you already," she replied, setting the tray dow.

"Don't touch," Holmes commanded, making Mrs. Hudson's head snap around as she picked up an old tray. "Everything is in its proper place. As per usual, Nanny."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," I said softly as she headed out.

"Oh, he's killed the dog...again," she stated as she swept out of the room past an unmoving Gladstone.

"What have you done to Gladstone now?" John groaned, kneeling beside the English bulldog.

"I was simply testing a new anesthetic," Holmes explained. "He doesn't mind."

John slowly rose to his feet, turning around. "Holmes, as your doctor-"

"He'll be straight as a trivet in no time."

"As your friend!" Holmes blinked at John's sudden change of voice before walking towards a chair and sitting down while he continued to speak. "You've been in this room for two weeks. I insist, you have to get out."

Holmes sighed, dramatically. "There's nothing of interest, for me, out there, on Earth. At all."

John placed his hands in his pockets, looking down before looking a back Holmes. "So, you're free this evening?"

"Absolutely," Holmes hummed, pleased.

"Dinner?"

"Wonderful."

"The Royal?"

"My favourite."

John resisted smirking before heading towards the door. "Mary's coming."

The look on Holmes' face forced me to bite back laughter. "Not available," he said quickly.

"You're meeting her, Holmes!" John replied, stopping at the door.

Holmes looked around at a few things on his desk before turning back around. "Have you proposed yet?" he questioned.

"No, I haven't found the right ring."

"Well, then it's not official."

John met Holmes' gaze evenly. "It's happening, whether you like it or not.8:30, the Royal. Wear a jacket," he added as he left the room.

"You wear a jacket," Holmes retorted as the door slammed.

I began to walk past him to the door. "I suppose I should leave you to get ready for tonight," I said softly.

Just as I was about to leave, he caught my hand. "Jane."

"Yes?" I asked, curious about his sudden urgency.

"There's something bothering you, isn't there," he asked, his dark brown eyes boring into mine.

"N...No, I'm fine," I replied.

He shook his head. "I know there is: you've been much more quiet than usual; for a few moments I thought Watson and I were the only ones in the room. When I mentioned the month and Blackwood's hanging, you turned about as white as a sheet. Now, I ask again: what is wrong, Jane?"

"I..." I sighed, trying to figure out the best time and way to tell him about Coward and the strange note. "Are you doing anything after dinner tonight? Perhaps we can discuss it then."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "I know just the place. Right after dinner."

I smiled. "Sounds perfect."

After freshening up and changing, Holmes and I got to the Royal at about 8:25. He helped me out of the carriage and escorted me in, pulled out my chair when we got to the table, and helped me sit down.

"I have to say, Mr. Holmes, I am impressed," I finally commented after he poured a glass of wine for me.

"What? Am I behaving?" He asked, glancing down at his pocket watch.

"Yes; perfectly," I confirmed with a wink. "John will be very proud."

"Oh, I do hope so," he replied, almost sarcastically before taking a small sip of wine. He glanced down at his watch again, then began to look around. For a few moments, all I could hear was the ticking of his watch as he closed his eyes, trying to block out all the noise.

"Jane; Holmes," my brother acknowledged as he walked up to the table, Mary on his arm.

"Holmes," I whispered, elbowing him.

"Hmm?" He asked, slowly opening his eyes.

"You're both early," John said softly.

"Fashionably," Holmes smiled, closing his watch with a snap before rising.

"Miss Mary Morsten," John smiled as he presented his fiancé to be.

"Oh my goodness. What a pleasure," Holmes said, kissing Mary's hand. "For the life of me, I don't know why it's taken him so long to introduce us properly." The two exchanged snide glances before we all sat back down.

"The pleasure is mine," Mary replied, settling in her chair. She looked quite lovely in a blue and purple dress with a gorgeous necklace. "It really is quite a thrill to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I've heard so much about you. I have a pile of detective novels at home...Collins, Poe."

"It's true," John agreed, with a hint of pride in his voice.

"It can seem a little far fetched though, at times. Making these grand assumptions out of tiny details."

"That's not quite right, is it?" Holmes questioned out loud, all most to no one as he looked up. "In fact, the little details are by far, the most important. Take Watson-"

"I intend to," Mary put in, causing Holmes to awkwardly smile before suddenly changing his mind.

"Well...how about both Watsons?" John and I exchanged worried looks as Holmes proceeded. "See his walking stick over there?" John grabbed it, letting Holmes see it. "African snake wood, hiding a blade of high tensile steel. Few were rewarded to the veterans of the Afghan war, so I can assume, he's a decorated soldier. Strong, brave, born to be an adventurer. And neat, like all military men. Now, I check his pockets, but not before I notice Miss Watson's hands." Holmes put the walking stick down, then took my hand gently, holding close to his face, inspecting my fingertips. "I see there are calluses on her fingertips, and they are slightly red. I can now infer that she is a musician-an active one at that. Probably in strings. I can also assume that she is patient, determined and quite clever as well. Now, both of them together." He lowered my hand, but did not let go for a moment as he leaned closer to Mary to observe the both of us. "They both have the same hazel eyes and rounded faces, though Miss Watson's cheekbones are slightly more pronounced, being she is a lady, of course." Here he snuck a small wink at me, causing John to glare. "Both of them appear to be the same age, so I can infer, along with their last names being the same, they are brother and sister-perhaps, even twins." He leaned away from Mary, released my hand, and went back to John's jacket. "Finally, back to Watson's pockets. Ah, a stamp from a boxing match. Now, I can infer that he's a bit of a gambler. I'd keep an eye on that dowry, if I were you."

"Those days are behind me," John said quickly.

"Right behind you," Holmes added. "It's cost us the rent, more than once."

"Well, with all due respect, Mr. Holmes, you know John and Jane very well," Mary said, her curiosity rising. "What about a complete stranger? What can you tell about me?"

"You?" Holmes asked, the thought never occurring to him.

"I don't think that's..." John began.

I don't know that that's..." I added in as the three of us exchanged looks, mostly of worry. Holmes had been acting amiably; it would be a pity to ruin the evening with one word Mary didn't wish to hear.

"Not at dinner."

"Perhaps another time," Holmes agreed.

"I insist," Mary replied.

"You insist?" Holmes questioned, shocked again.

"You remember we discussed this," John warned.

"The lady insists," Holmes replied, giving John and I a reassuring look before taking his chair and scraping it around towards Mary; resting his hand on his chin, he began to study.

"You're a governess," he finally stated.

"Well done," Mary replied, pleased.

"Yes, well done," I agreed, glancing at John. "And now we can..." My voice trailed off as I realized why Holmes had held my hand for so long. Glancing down, I noticed a piece of paper.

John nodded. "Waiter!"

"Your student..." Holmes continued, still studying Mary. "It's a boy of eight."

"Charlie is seven, actually," Mary corrected, smiling a little. I glanced down at the note I'd successfully unfolded without looking; there was an address written in Holmes' quick, flowing script.

"And he's tall for his age. He flicked you with ink today."

Mary whipped around to John, a thrilled and stunned look on her face. "Is there ink on my face?" she gawked.

"There is nothing, wrong with your face," John assured, glancing up for a moment as he refilled her glass.

_If dinner should go ill, excuse yourself and go to this address. I shall meet you there for our discussion. Try to stay out of sight._

_-S.H._

"There are two drops on your ear, in fact," Holmes replied, pointing for a moment at her right ear. "India blue is nearly impossible to wash off. Anyway, very impetuous act of that boy, but you're too experienced to react rashly, which is why the lady for whom you work lent you that necklace. Pearls, diamonds, flawless rubies. Hardly the gems of a governess." Mary looked down at the necklace before exchanging a less enthralled glance with John, who in return glanced at Holmes, who had a faraway look in his eye. "However, the jewels you are not wearing, tell us rather more."

"Holmes!" my brother said in a warning tone, but Holmes didn't catch it. He in too deep.

"You were engaged. The ring has gone, but the lightness of the skin where it once sat suggests that you spent some time abroad, wearing it proudly-that is, until you were informed of its true and rather modest worth and then you broke of the engagement and returned to, England for better prospects. A doctor perhaps?"

Holmes' gaze had focused on John, and no one expected Mary's glass of wine to be emptied on the detective's face.

_Well, dinner went ill. _

"Right on all counts, Mr. Holmes, apart from one," Mary said, lowering her empty glass. "I didn't leave him. He died." With that, she rose, giving John a small nod before exiting the Royal.

"Well done, old boy," my brother sighed, rising to follow her.

Once the couple were out of sight, I tucked the note away and rose myself. "May I be excused, Mr. Holmes?" I asked politely. He nodded wordlessly, and I left to follow his instructions.

"Come here often?" a deep voice asked.

"Hmm?" I said absentmindedly, glancing over my shoulder at a man that approached me. "Oh, no, I'm just...waiting on my friend." I looked out at the ring and the dirt scattered all on the floor of it as I leaned on the rail.

"Your friend...is he boxing or betting?" The man asked again as people began to trickle in.

I smiled as more men began to enter the ring. "Both." I then turned, twisting and turning to get away from the ring as quickly as possible before the first punch flew. Holmes told me to stay out of sight-well, to try to.

I walked towards the bar in an attempt to blend in when another man spotted me. "A drink on me, Anne. For the lady." He then sent me a grin, reaching into his coat pocket for a note.

Another note, and a hand, beat him to the punch. "Spoken for. Better luck next time," Holmes said lowly, his coat on his arm. "Would you mind holding this for me, Darling?" he asked, giving me a warm smile.

"Not at all," I smiled, thankful for his ever watchful eye as he walked over, putting the coat around my shoulders.

"Thank you, honeypuff," he whispered in my ear, pressing a quick kiss on my cheek before walking away to enter the ring.

"Honeypuff?" I whispered in bewilderment. _The things you come up with, Holmes._

The woman behind the bar, Anne, set a small glass of wine in front of me, shaking her head with a small smile on her face. "Men these days. It's a miracle you found one that's 'alf decent."

"Oh...it was a challenge," I agreed, taking a small sip.

"Well then 'old on to him, dear. They don't come a dime a dozen." With that, Anne turned to help the next man at the bar. I downed the rest of my glass, sitting it on the table and venturing away from it as the men's shouting at the boxing match escalated. I walked around for a bit, trying to get see if I could catch a glimpse at Holmes to see how he was faring. I was almost to a thinner spot in the crowd when I heard a voice.

"Where did you get that bracelet?"

I looked up, seeing a woman that looked to be my age in a bright pink dress staring at my wrist, which had a silver bracelet with dozens of music-related charms on it. "Oh, it was a gift. From my brother."

"That was kind of him," she replied with a smile. "It's quite lovely."

"Thank you," I murmured, twisting it around my wrist.

"And what brings a lady like yourself to the ring?" Irene asked, looking towards the ring for a moment.

"My...friend...he's boxing."

Her lips curved in a small smile again. "And that's his coat, I'd wager." When I nodded, her grin widened, and her eyes flitted back to the ring again. They lingered there for a moment as she winked, then they went to a man and his wife as they arranged her bet for the match. Once she was done, she suddenly remembered I was there. "And who's coat do you have?"

"Um.." I glanced into the ring for the first time, seeing Holmes standing still, his eyes boring into something I could not see. "The smaller of the two," I managed.

Her eyes clouded for a moment; I thought I saw a spark of envy in them. "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me. I just remembered I have an engagement early tomorrow morning."

"That's quite all right," I replied. "It was nice to meet you..."

She rolled her eyes at herself. "Of course. My manners must've checked themselves out at the door. Irene, Adler."

"Jane Watson."

She half-smiled. "Pleasure to meet you. Good night." With that, she stepped into the crowd and vanished as they went silent.

"Where did that come from?" A man asked, a touch of anger in his voice. I quietly made my way back to the bar just as Holmes took a stack of notes from a man's coat pocket, lay one on the bar, and stuffing the rest in his trouser pocket as he grabbed a bottle of wine. He uncorked it with his mouth and proceeded up the stairs.

I supposed I was to follow, so I did.

"Holmes?" I whispered, tapping on a door that met me when I reached the top of the stairs.

"Ah, yes, Jane," came his voice; he seemed very cheerful. "Give me one more moment; I'm almost presentable." When he opened the door, I saw he was back in his attire from earlier in the evening; the only thing that had changed was his damp hair...and his was missing something.

"You might need this," I stated, easing his coat off my shoulders and handing it to him.

"Thank you for keeping it safe, Honeypuff."

"I still can't figure out where that came from."

"Neither can I. Shall we?" He offered me his arm, and I took it, allowing him to guide us back to the carriage he had to have taken to get us here. "Now that we are alone...what has been troubling you?"

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "When we went to Lestrade's ball, and I danced with that stranger...he was..."

"Strange?" Holmes tried, a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, yes," I admitted, remembering Lord Coward's shifty behavior. "He said things that didn't make much sense to me, and then he..."

"Jane." He had stopped on a back street, turned to the side and held me by my shoulders. "Just tell me what happened. All you can manage."

Taking another deep breath, I relayed the strange meeting with Coward.

_"Do I have the pleasure of knowing your name, my lady?" my partner asked, the first words he'd spoken since we'd begun._

_"Oh...Jane, Jane Watson."_

_He smiled. Charming. _

_How on _earth_ did I think he was charming?_

_"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Watson. I am Lord Coward."_

_"Pleasure to meet you, my lord," I replied politely. "And how do you know Inspector Lestrade?"_

_Coward smiled. "An aquaintence. I know the Yard very well. And yourself?"_

_"My brother's friend." I didn't say who, for some reason. Something about this Coward seemed...odd. Off._

_As we weaved in between couples, Coward began speaking again. "And what is your opinion on the Blackwood case?"_

_I sighed. "It's...a strange one, to say the least. However, I am glad the culprit got caught. The families of those poor girls can finally breathe easy, knowing that man is put away."_

_"He won't be for long."_

_I snapped my gaze back at him. "What do you mean?"_

_"Lord Blackwood is a powerful man, Miss Watson." I tried following his gaze, but it was constantly shifting. "He cannot be contained by something as petty as an ancient cell."_

_"Been held so far," I replied, looking for John, or Holmes, or Lestrade...someone familiar; the room's lights seemed to flicker. I was getting frightened by the way Coward was talking._

_"Because he's been planning. The time is near upon us. On the day of-" Coward didn't get to finish his sentence, for the lights completely went out, thunder loudly booming outside. The doors and windows flung open; little drops of rain flicked in._

_The result?_

_The ballroom reputed into screaming chaos._

_I felt something getting pressed into my hand. "Read the instructions carefully," Coward whispered in my ear before he vanished._

"And here it is," I finished, showing Holmes the letter I'd been carrying with me for three months. The date was tomorrow, the time was exactly an hour before Blackwood's noose was to drop.

Holmes took the letter into his hands, studying it carefully. "Let's see what's inside, shall we?"

"But Holmes, the date!" I protested in a frightened voice.

His warm brown eyes searched mine. "It is a letter, Jane. It cannot hurt you." With that, he unceremoniously ripped the envelope open and unfolded the aged piece of parchment contained within.

The two of us almost didn't notice the bird's feather that was placed neatly inside because our attention had been claimed by the one sentence written with ink that was black as night.

_Come with my last request if you wish to see the next dawn. _

I looked up from the letter, meeting Holmes' eyes as they gleamed with excitement. "The strange ones always make it interesting."

If you say so.

**_A/N: I hope it was worth the wait! I shall do my best to update quicker; however, Senior Year may have other plans. Until next time!_**


	7. Chapter 5

**_Author's Note: Believe it or not, I, Marie, am alive! Spring Break has given me a much-needed respite from school, so I've snatched a little time to write! I shall be traveling to Tennessee next week, but have no fear—I am pretty positive I shall have wifi! So, keep your eyes out for other updates on my other stories! Onward with the chapter!_**

After being unnerved by the letter Coward had delivered to me, Holmes suggested that I lie down in a quiet place, to which I was perfectly happy to oblige.

Until I realised that he was going to be chasing flies for hours on end.

Once he had the amount he wanted, he began plucking the strings of a violin, something that actually made me doze off for a few moments…until I heard the door open.

"Watson?" Holmes called without turning around.

"Right," John replied. "Let's go."

Holmes ignored him, starting on his conversation. "What started merely as an experiment has brought me to the threshold of monumental discovery." He turned back to the jar of flies he had collected which was resting on an upside-down chair and covered with a magnifying glass. "Now if I play, chromatic scale, there's no measurable response." "You do know what you're drinking is meant for eye surgery," my brother dead-panned as he poked around the various things scattered around a table.  
>Holmes continued, violin in hand and not skipping a beat, his eyes almost wild with excitement. "But…now—and this is remarkable—if I change to atonal clusters…<em>voila!<em> They fly in counter-clockwise, synchronised concentric circles. As though a regimented flock. Watson, this is exceptional. I, using musical theory, have created order out of chaos." "How did you lure them in?" John asked, sounding genuinely interested as he knelt in front of the fly-filled flask. "Excellent question," Holmes smiled, "though I shall never—" "One at a time. He's been at it for six hours," I interrupted, stifling a groan as I sat up; sleeping on a table is something I shall never do again. John nodded to me in thanks. "And what happens if I do this?" With that, he removed the magnifying glass, giving the flask a few taps with his cane to encourage the flies to escape. Holmes stared at his ruined experiment with exhausted despair, and almost muttered a curse before John continued. "Clean yourself up. You are Blackwood's last request. " My eyes snapped to Holmes' brown ones as my brother's footsteps faded away. I wanted him to say something, anything to put my mind at some sort of ease as the letter I still had reappearing in my mind, the black ink almost blinding. He merely smiled. "Let's go see what this ruckus is about, Miss Watson." I nervously twisted the material of my dress around my hand.

Holmes and I—Blackwood's last request? I could almost see all the horrid scenarios playing out in my head, especially since he'd opened his letter so early.

"Look at those towering structures," Holmes said suddenly, almost making me jump as we bumped and bounced along in the carriage on the way to the prison. "It's the first combination of a Bascule's suspension bridge ever attempted. Most innovative." Holmes smiled at John and I as he leaned back into his seat, grinning. "What an industrious empire!"

John looked at Holmes, keeping his mouth shut.

"Oh, I have your winnings from last night," Holmes continued, drawing them out with a flourish. "You weren't there, so I made your customary bet."

John blinked and half-glared, reaching for the bills.

"You're right. I'll keep it with your chequebook, locked safely away in my draw."

Trying to change the subject, I glanced out the window. "Did you know the opera house is featuring _Don Giovanni_?" I asked.

"Oh yes." Holmes smiled. "I could easily procure a couple of tickets if you had any cultural inclinations this evening."

John half-glared. Again.

Holmes sighed. "You have a grand gift of silence, Watson, it makes you quite invaluable as a companion."

Before Holmes could start talking again, John punched him. Hard.

In the nose.

I offered my hanky, but Holmes produced one of his own with a grunt of shock.

"I knew she'd been engaged," John said quickly. "She told me."

"So that's a 'no' to the opera then."

Avoiding the subject again, John looked at what Holmes was reaching for beside him. "That was my waistcoat."

Holmes glanced down at the article in his hand, then back at my brother. "I thought we agreed, it's too small for you."

"I'd like it back."

"I thought we agreed."

"I want it back." Once Holmes relinquished the article of clothing, John promptly balled it up and threw it out the carriage window. The deed done, smiles began cracking all over the interior of the carriage, relieving some of the nerves I had acquired on the way to Pentonville.

Once the carriage slowed to a stop, I could hear and see the chaos surrounding the Pentonville Prison. John helped me out as Holmes exited the carriage, a guard approaching him. "This way, Mr. Holmes," he said, his eyes darting around frantically.

"Blackwood certainly seems to have got the crowd into something of a fear frenzy," John noted, watching the frantic crowds of religious fanatics and other lunatics as they raged.

"I'm sure it will disperse once his feet have stopped twitching," Holmes replied, optimistic. "Care to come along?"

John shook his head. "No, you're on your own, old cock. I have no business with him whilst he's alive."

Holmes nodded, almost dejected. "Suit yourself, mother hen." With that, he turned to me, offering his arm. "Jane?" I took it, wrapping my arm tightly around his bicep to try to hide my trembling fingers.

As we followed a guard into the prison, Holmes could notice the extreme uneasiness radiating off of him as we delved deeper into the rows of cells. "It seems you have quite a lot of rooms to let," I noted quietly, grateful for the absence of catcalling John had warned me about.

The guard nodded, his eyes darting about. "We 'ad to move the prisoners, ma'am. Otherwise we're gonna have a riot on our hands. He has a peculiar effect on the inmates. As though, he can get inside their heads."

"I'm sure the lady and I can find our own way if you have other duties to perform," Holmes smoothed in, watching the guard's face melt in relief.

"Much obliged, sir," he breathed, ready to faint. "Thank you." He promptly turned on his heel and practically fled.

Now alone, Holmes looked down at me. "My arm would appreciate a little circulation, Miss Watson."

"Oh," I blushed, beginning to extract my fingers from their vice-like grip on his arm. "I'm sorry, I'm just so—"

"There is no need to be anxious, Jane." Holmes placed his hand on top of my own, wrapping it back around his arm. "He is just a man, nothing more." Giving me a reassuring smile, we rounded the corner to our destination, meeting an unearthly voice.

"_And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy, and they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast they worshipped the beast saying, 'Who is like the beast?'" _As we approached, I saw the etchings and drawings that the man had made inside his cell; Holmes taking it all in as well. I noticed a crow perched in the window sill, looking as flighty as I felt._ "The beast which I just saw had the body of a leopard, but had feet of a bear and the mouth was the mouth of a lion. The dragon gave his power unto the beast, and his seat and great authority."_

"I love what you've done with the place," Holmes finally spoke, breaking the silent whispers of the imprisoned man as he sat on his cot.

Blackwood paused for a moment, still looking down at his Bible, then he spoke, his back still to us. "So glad you can accept my invitation. Both of you."

Holmes leaned against one of the iron bars while I kept my distance. "I just have a small point of concern."

"How can I help?"

"I've already followed the murders with some interest—we have, Miss Watson and I."

"Did you now?" Blackwood inquired, sounding pleased.

"Indeed," I replied, a sudden anger boiling to the surface and into my words. "My heart went out primarily to the families of the victims. They were far to young to be killed like that. You're a cruel, heartless man, and for that I loathe you. And always will."

I could almost hear his smirk. "You may think differently, come your day."

I sneered. "I don't think so."

Holmes gently touched my hand to calm me, then continued. "As I viewed them, I couldn't but notice a criminal mastery in the stroke of your brush."

"You're too kind," Blackwood admitted, though he did not sound flattered.

"However, by comparison, your work in the crypt looks more like a finger painting."

With that statement, the murderer closed his book, turning to face us. I barely repressed a shiver at the sight of his dark eyes. "So now you're curious if there's a larger game afoot?" he questioned.

Holmes shrugged. "Either that or, um...shortly my friend will pronounce you dead and I thought we might keep him company." I smiled a little at his jab at humour; the man behind the bars was unimpressed.

"Your mistake is to imagine that anything that is earthly has led us to this moment. Your error of judgement is to assume that I'm holding the brush at all. I'm merely a channel."

"Well, my only wish is that I could have caught you sooner."

"Indeed," I agreed, leveling my gaze at Blackwood. "Five innocent lives might have been spared from your stupidity."

"Those lives were a necessity. Sacrifice. Five otherwise meaningless creatures called to serve a greater purpose."

"I'd love to see you tell that to their fathers," I spat. I didn't know it was possible to despise a human being so much until this very moment. I turned my back to him, unable to look at him a moment longer.

"I wonder if they'll let me and Watson dissect your brain," Holmes interjected, sounding almost like a child. "After you hang, of course." He paused for a moment, digging for his pipe as he also turned his back, a slight space between us. "I'd wager, there is some deformity that would be scientifically significant. Then you too, could serve a greater purpose."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, I felt a hand seize my wrist as a face appeared between Holmes and myself. "You must widen your gaze. Both of you. I'm concerned, you underestimate the gravity of coming events." I noticed it wasn't the criminal who had a vice-like grip on me, but it was Holmes himself, his gaze fixed on something in front of him I could not see. I shifted my hand a little, letting our fingers lace together as Blackwood continued. "The three of us are bound together on a journey that would twist the very fabric of nature. But beneath your mask of logic, Holmes, I sense a fragility...that worries me. Steel your mind, Holmes. I need you."

Though the knuckles paired with my own were almost white, Holmes' voice was surprisingly steady. "I'd say, you've come a long way down from a house of Lords."

"Indeed," I agreed as we began to step away from the cell, Holmes putting his pipe in his mouth.

"I will rise again," Blackwood warned.

"_Bon voyage_. Come along, Miss Watson." We took three steps, our hands still locked, when Blackwood's voice thundered again.

"Pay attention! Three more will die and there is nothing you can do to save them. A fourth will be my companion—one close to you: a falcon. So powerful, yet so frail. You will risk no harm to her, and that will be your undoing." Holmes grip on my hand loosened for a moment; at the mention of a _her_, however, it tightened again, my own fingers beginning to tremble. "You must accept that all this is beyond your control. By the time you realize you made all of this possible it will be the last sane thought in your head."

Holmes did not reply; he merely released my hand to light his pipe, placed my hand in the crook of his arm, and jammed his other hand into his pocket, making the two of us look as nonchalant as we had entered to the group of men piled at the top of the staircase.

"What did he want?" Lestrade asked.

Holmes blinked, thinking. "I'm not sure. But I don't think you're needed, Father," he raised his voice, looking to the priest that had spoken with John earlier. "Not for this one."

"Lord Henry Blackwood, you are sentenced to death for the practice of black magic, the unholy murder of five innocent young women, and an attempted murder of a sixth. Do you have any final words?"

I watched the man's eyes trail up to somehow find mine in the crowd, standing behind the priest, trying not to tremble under his inky gaze. "Death," he uttered, "is only the beginning."

I felt a familiar hand—Holmes', no doubt—slip into mine as a bag slipped over Blackwood's head and he dropped. "_Le pire est passé,_" he whispered in my ear. The worst is over.

We all watched in silence, as if what we were witnessing was somehow sacred. After a few moments, a man nodded to John, and they disappeared, the body of Blackwood being taken down.

"Miss Watson?"

I jumped at the new voice, releasing Holmes' hand in one fluid motion. "Oh, Lestrade," I forced a smile at the inspector.

"Your brother is waiting downstairs, Miss Watson. He's pronounced…Lord Blackwood…dead."

I turned to Holmes. "And that is the end of Lord Blackwood." I sighed in relief. "_Enfin._"

Translations

_Le pire set passé._

The worst is over.

_Enfin._

At last/Finally.


	8. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note: Marie here, alive and well! I apologize for such a long wait; all of the sweet reviews made me almost nervous to proceed with this chapter! For those who caught Blackwood quoting _****The Mummy****_, I'm glad I'm not the only one! That brings me joy. Onward to this chapter—I really hope you like it!_**

At John's request, I went with him to have lunch with Mary's parents. After a charming time with the soon-to-be in-laws (if John will ever pull himself together), Mary asked me to take a walk in their gardens with her, to which I happily accepted; I was grateful for some quality time with a fellow female after the endless streams of theories and cases from the Baker Street boys.

"The roses look beautiful this year," I complemented, smelling a budding pink blossom.

"I agree," Mary replied, "Mother is expecting some petunias to come in from a friend in America by the end of the week to see how well they will do." We strolled through the garden a few moments in silence before she spoke again. "Do you think John really loves me?"

I stopped, facing Mary fully. "Mary, can I be honest with you and trust you won't tell John?" When she nodded, I continued. "The reason he hasn't asked you yet is because he can't find 'the right ring'—well, that's what he tells Holmes. But the reason he can't find a ring is because he cannot seem to find one that is just perfect for you. He wants the best for you, Mary. That's why he's taking so long." I put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "However, if you'd like, I can give him a lecture about the waining patience of women."

Mary laughed, her grey-green eyes sparkling. "I may hold you to that, Jane!" She looped my arm through hers as we continued our stroll through the garden. "You always know how to make me laugh. Don't ever change, Miss Watson."

I smiled as a gentle breeze played with our hair. "I do not plan on it, Miss Morstan."

* * *

><p>Once we said our farewells—and Mr. Morstan once again reminding me that their doors were always open for me—my brother and I began our trek back to Baker Street, the break from the confusion that seemed to flood the flat working wonders for the two of us. "What do you think of them?" John asked me once we were out of earshot.<p>

"I like them," I announced as my hand was placed in the crook of John's arm, making his shoulders sag with relief. "I just hope they're actually still alive when the wedding finally rolls around."

John rolled his eyes. "I suppose I can add you to the list."

"What list?"

"The nagging list. It's getting rather expansive."

I smiled as my brother raked a hand through his hair. "Relax. You'll find a ring, I just know it." I slipped my arm out of his to let him unlock the door and open it for me.

Before I could step in, however, I heard a familiar voice. "Hold the door!" John, slightly perplexed, held the door open wider, and a woman in pink slipped out. "Thanks, Doctor—oh, pardon me." As she bumped into me, I noticed something familiar about the shade.

_"Where did you get that bracelet?"_

_I looked up, seeing a woman that looked to be my age in a bright pink dress staring at my wrist, which had a silver bracelet with dozens of music-related charms on it. "Oh, it was a gift. From my brother." _

"Irene," I whispered as I stepped into the house. What was she doing here?

John turned around halfway up the stairs. "You know her?"

"I remember her. I ran into her a few nights ago, when Holmes was boxing." Following him up the stairs, we almost collided into the aforementioned man as he opened a window.

"Holmes?" my brother gaped. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he retorted all too quickly, spinning around and acting like a child with his hand caught in a scone plate.

I looked at him closely, noticing something was slightly off. "Are you wearing a false…"

"A false nose? No."

John turned, pointing towards the door with his cane. "Tell me, that, that wasn't—"

"It wasn't," Holmes confirmed, snatching John's coat and jumping out of the window with a cry of "_Aiyaah_!"

"Holmes!" John called, looking out of the window. "Where are you going?" I didn't chance a glance; however, all I heard were the following sounds:

_Boom._

**Crash!**

"Watson? Help! Watson!"

"Come along, sister dear," John stated as he put his hat back on and closed the window yet again. "Let's go see what the…curious, Mr. Holmes has been up to."

* * *

><p>By the time Holmes stumbled back into the flat, I had managed to tidy up a little while John had sifted and read through all of the files that had been scattered about. He silently slid into a chair in front of a mirror and began to scrub his face and remove the false nose.<p>

John looked past the paper he was reading, trying not to roll his eyes at the other man. "Look at you. Why is the only woman you've ever cared about a world-class criminal? Are you a masochist?"

"A world-class criminal?" I asked aloud. Irene had failed to mention that when we met. And Holmes cared about her?

Holmes sighed, wiping his face again. "Allow me to explain."

"Allow _me_," John insisted, looking towards me. "She's the only adversary who ever outsmarted you—twice." His tone turned smug. "Made a proper idiot out of you."

Holmes sat his face in his hands, looking like he was pouting. "Right, you've had your fun," he muttered.

"What's she after, anyway?"

"Time to press on."

"What could she possibly need?"

Holmes sighed, throwing down the towel in his hands and standing. "Doesn't matter."

"An alibi?" I ventured.

"A beard?" John guessed, his grin spreading, though his face was hidden by the paper. "A human canoe? She could sit on your back and paddle you up the Thames."

"It's of no consequence to you, really, is it, Watson?" Holmes questioned, walking towards a stack of papers and picking up a pile. "We've done _our_ last case together."

"I've already read it." Irritated, Holmes threw the papers back down and walked away, removing the scarf from around his neck and throwing it down. John looked up at me and explain. "Missing person: Luke Riordan; four foot-ten, red hair, no front teeth. Case solved!" He flopped the paper down, smirking at Holmes as he picked up his violin. "You're obviously not her type. She likes ginger dwarfs."

"Midget," Holmes corrected, avoiding my brother's gaze as I felt a prick of something the longer we dwelled upon the topic of the woman in pink. I couldn't place it exactly.

John raised an eyebrow. "So you agree?"

"No, I don't agree." Holmes stood still for a moment, plucking at his violin and walking to a window. "It's more than a technicality, you see. You are misrepresenting the dimensions of foreshortened peoples."

John sighed, a little dramatic. "I've said too much; I can tell I've upset you."

"No! I'm simply stating that one has—"

"What _were_ you doing?"

"Will you allow me to explain?" Holmes nearly snapped back, exasperated.

I bit back a laugh as John fluffed his paper back up. "I wish you would."

Holmes sighed, picking up his bow. "Irene, appeared, this morning, after the two of you left. She threw a little tea party, asked me to find this midget, and left without much of a fuss. She didn't seem as...she wasn't herself. So, once she left, I looked out the window to see which direction she was going, scrambled to a mirror, and—"

"Applied a false nose and jumped out of the window, right after we had bumped into her exiting," I filled in, the pieces coming together a little.

Holmes nodded, sitting by John and beginning to play. "After seeing her act...more natural...I followed her through the local circus, acquiring a few more touches to my disguise, and posed as a beggar who bumped into her carriage's horse. She wasn't alone, she was with her…employer." With one last swipe of his bow, his song was finished. "This man intrigues me, Watson. He's got Adler on edge, and that's no mean feat. She's intimidated; she's scared of him."

"Yet she works for him," I confirmed.

"Right."

John sighed, folding the paper he was holding and put it to the side. "It has nothing to do with me, but I advise you to leave the case alone."

"I may not always have a choice," Holmes retorted. "After all, I may be paying the rent on my own, thanks to you."

John rolled his eyes at the bow inches from his nose. "Get that out of my face."

"It's not in your face; it's in my hand."

"Get what's in your hand _out of my face_."

I laughed just as the door swung open. "Mr. Holmes!" a man called.

"Clarky!" Holmes replied, giving the slightly-frazzled policeman permission to enter.

"Sir; Inspector Lestrade asks that you come with me at once."

"What's he done now; lost his way to the Scotland Yard?" Holmes asked as I picked up a forgotten piece of needlework I had been working on a couple of weeks ago before the flat had swallowed it. "Watsons, drop a compass; he means us," Holmes continued calmly, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"No, 'you' means you," John put in.

Clarky cleared his throat before proceeding. "It's...Lord Blackwood, sir. He, uh...well...it appears he's come back from the grave, sir."

I felt the colour drain from my face as the needlework slipped from my hands, the conversation between Holmes, Blackwood, and myself flashing back through my mind.

_And I will rise again._

"Most engaging," Holmes said tightly, walking around the room until he was beside me. "Are you all right?" he asked lowly, his hand gently touching the small of my back.

"No," I answered honestly, "I…I'm frightened."

"I pronounced the man dead myself," John answered crisply.

"What are the facts?" Holmes asked, not leaving my side.

"The groundskeeper, claims to have seen him walking around the graveyard just this morning, sir," Clarky explained.

_Death, is only the beginning. _

"I'll leave this in your capable hands," John said suddenly, rising. "I have an appointment with Mary."

"It's not my reputation that's at stake here," Holmes called, making John stop.

"Don't try that," my brother warned.

"Have the newspapers gotten wind of it?" I asked, speaking past the lump that had formed in my throat.

"Well, that's what we're trying to avoid, ma'am," Clarky replied.

"Certainly," Holmes mused. "You do not have to go down this road with me, Jane," he murmured, dropping his voice again.

"No," I whispered, "I...I think I must." Holmes nodded, gently rubbing my back before looking towards Clarky again.

"What's the major concern?"

The police man seemed to be trembling. "Panic. Sheer, bloody panic, sir."

Now even Holmes seemed troubled. "Indeed."

"You're not taking this seriously, are you, Holmes?" John asked, sounding shocked.

"Yes, as you should." He strode forward, looking straight ahead. "It's a matter of professional integrity: No girl wants to marry a doctor who can't tell if a man's dead or not."

And that is how Holmes got my brother into the policeman's carriage.


	9. Chapter 7

**_Author's Note: Heyyy, guys. Marie here-alive, believe it or not. I apologize for the wait. It seems like yesterday it was August and I was starting college; now it's April and I feel like I haven't written in years! Hopefully, since I've learned some of the college ropes, things will get moving again. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Disclaimer: Pretty sure we all know I only own Jane. Not even her last name belongs to me._**

**Chapter 7**

The handkerchief I was twisting had nearly turned my hand white as we approached the cemetery, the men of the Scotland Yard swarming around Blackwood's gravesite with their horses tacked neatly in a row.

As Clarky opened the carriage door, John reached and squeezed my hand gently, his hazel eyes looking reassuringly into my own. "Are you sure," he repeated.

I nodded. "Y-Yes." With that, John stepped out, offering me his hand to help me exit the carriage, Holmes bringing up the rear with a riding crop tucked neatly under his arm. As we formed our silent line of four, the detective took my arm and placed it in the crook of his free elbow, just as he had done when we visited Blackwood in prison.

_So glad you could__except my invitation. Both of you._

John's voice almost startled me. "Who do you think won the match, Clarky?"

Clarky wrinkled his nose. "Sir?"

"The rugby match." He gestured to the streaks and footprints on the ground with his walking stick, earning a small smile from me and a chuckle from Holmes. "Your boys have done a magnificent job of obliterating any potential evidence."

"Yes, but at least they never miss an opportunity...to miss an opportunity," Holmes quipped as we approached the actual gravesite. The stone was completely busted, leaving a gaping hole, big enough for almost two people to stride out of side-by-side.

"You took your time, Holmes," a voice rumbled from the shadows, making me jump.

"And on the third day…" Holmes teased, glancing at me for a moment. I nodded; he left me with my brother and sauntered towards the grave as Lestrade emerged, very much alive and deep in thought.

Once the inspector and the detective were side by side, Lestrade began to fill Holmes in, John and I listening. "These slabs are sandstone, half a ton each if they're a pound, and they were smashed open from the inside."

Holmes nodded. "Lestrade. What of the coffin?"

"We are in the process of bringing it up now."

Holmes turned his attention to the men of the Yard all standing in a clump, staring at the grave with uneasiness. "I see. Hmm... Right." He turned back to Lestrade, a small smirk on his face. "At what stage of the process? Contemplative? And how is our witness?"

After glaring at his men, the DI gestured to the older man huddled against the set of stairs leading to Blackwood's grave. "He's over there. And apparently he's cataton—cata…"

I raised an eyebrow. "Catatonic?"

Lestrade gave a frustrated huff. "He's not feeling very well."

"Yes," Holmes replied, biting back his amusement.

As Lestrade walked towards his men and John towards the witness, I stood staring at the shattered grave, watching Holmes perch on a large fragment of the slabs and pick up smaller bits of the busted stone. "This can't be happening," I whisper as men shuffle into the tomb, into the black.

"What do you mean, Miss Watson?" Holmes inquired mid-sniff, making me jump.

"Remember? 'And I will rise again'?" I quoted, shivering at the familiar words. "Seems as though he was right."

Looking above his tinted lenses, Holmes' brown eyes met mine in an almost stern glance. "He was a _man_, Jane. Nothing magical about him. Everything is not what it seems," he murmured, licking the piece of sandstone in between his fingers thoughtfully. "Honey?" he asked, looking at the rock.

I wrinkled my nose. "What?"

"Just remember that for me," he requested, rising to his feet and taking my arm to guide me away from the opening; Lestrade's men had emerged again, the black, ornate coffin coming with them.

As John and Lestrade set to helping pry the coffin open, Holmes removed his glasses with one hand, taking my hand to squeeze it with the other as my heart began to pound._ Just a man_, the glance he gave me said.

My heart continued to hammer away in my chest as the coffin lid flew open to reveal...

A short, red-headed man, covered in maggots and dirt.

"Good Lord," John murmured.

Lestrade looked up in surprise. "That's not Blackwood," he declared.

_Three more will die and there is nothing you can do to save them._

Holmes squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying his best to not snap at the Detective Inspector beside him. "Well, now we have a firm grasp, of the obvious," he quipped. He swiftly pulled a string to open a pouch that was attached to his belt, handed me his riding crop, and knelt beside my brother. "Time of death?"

John followed suit, removing his hat and pulling out a ruler to measure the creatures around and inside the body. "Diptera is approximately…two-thirds of an inch which would put the time of death at between ten and twelve hours ago."

As Lestrade licked his pen to take note of John's statement, Holmes' eyes flickered upwards. "May I borrow your pen?" he asked. Nodding, the Detective Inspector complied; Holmes used the pen to lift up the upper lip of the corpse, revealing the absence of two front teeth.

"Adler's dwarf," John confirmed.

"Midget," Holmes corrected, his chin in his hand as he thought as he handed Lestrade his pen back; the DI fluffing out his handkerchief to take the utensil back with a grimace. Holmes removed his hat to rake his hand through his hair, his eyes catching something mine did not.

"I know what I saw!" A new voice declared as Holmes dropped his hat on the corpse.

It was the old, catatonic groundskeeper, inching towards all of us with gleaming blue eyes. "It was Blackwood! As clear as I see you." His face grew grave as he continued. "And when the dead walk...the living will fill these coffins."

_Three more__…_

Holmes glanced over his shoulder at me as John put his hat on, my brother's gaze still studying the man. "Well…" Holmes began, putting his hat back on his head and rising to his feet. "Umm…" He nodded to Lestrade, turned to me for his riding crop.

"Right, put the lid on and clean this lot up," Lestrade instructed as we walked away, myself walking in between my brother and his flat mate.

"Do you really believe he was resurrected?" I inquired, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

Holmes held his riding crop behind his back for a moment, looking at me. "The question is not 'if', Miss Watson, but 'how.' The game's afoot." A sparkle came into his eye as he began again. "_Follow your spirit__—_"

"_And__upon this charge, cry:__ '__God for Harry,__England and Saint George._'" The voice to my right joined in.

I shook my head with a small smile on my face. "At least the two of you are well-educated."

"I must say, though, I am famished," Holmes began, looking past me to my brother. "What about you two, Watsons?"

John rolled his eyes as I shook my head. "Only you would want to eat after looking at a corpse. What are you thinking."

Holmes grinned.

"Thank you, Flora. Miss Watson, that's horrible for your circulation."

"What?" I looked down, realising I had managed to knot my handkerchief around my hand again; however, this time, my fingers felt quite stuck. "Oh."

Taking my hand to pry the material away as we waited on my brother to return from the shop Holmes insisted upon going to, Holmes kept his voice low as the people around his milled about. "I know you're worried. About the Blackwood case."

I didn't protest; I simply nodded. No use lying or arguing with a man who could see straight through my words. "I'm frightened," I repeated for the second time today as Holmes pulled my handkerchief free, holding my hand in his to make sure he held my gaze. "We know nothing yet, Jane. Let us get evidence and facts first before we get too frightened."

I nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'll try. No more handkerchief knots."

He smiled, turning my hand to place the material into my palm. "No more handkerchief knots."

"Here you are."

John held the paper bag out for Holmes as the three of us began to walk in a sort of single file to avoid the other people in the alley. "Why that certain fish and chips store I don't understand," my brother continued.

Holmes produced the watch he had picked off of the corpse, beginning to examine it as he walked behind me, John taking the lead with the bag of chips in his hand, offering me one. "Well, there's a particular beer they use out in the back—northern stout, to be exact."

John sighed from in front of me. "You know, Holmes, I've seen things in war I don't understand. In India, I once met a man who predicted his own death right down to the number and placement of the bullets that killed him." He glanced behind him at his flatmate as he examined the watch. "You have to admit, Holmes, that a supernatural explanation to this case is, theoretically, possible."

"No. Agreed," Holmes put in as we left the crowds behind us, standing shoulder-to-shoulder again as he faced my brother. "But, it is a huge mistake to theorise before one has data. Inevitably, one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. That said, I believe our midget is the key to this." John nodded as Holmes held up the watch for both of us to see, taking the lead as we approached more people. "Right. Scratches around the keyhole where the watch is wound. What does that tell you?"

John looked ahead of me, studying the watch as best as he could. "The man, was likely a drunk. Every time he wound the watch, his hand slipped, hence the scratches."

Holmes' head bobbed in front of me in approval. "Yes. Very good, Watson. You have developed considerable deductive powers of your own. Let's see now. There are several sets of initials— "

"Pawn brokers' marks."

"Excellent. Most recent of which are: M…H. M.H."

"M.H…"

"Maddison and Haig," I interjected, causing the two men to look at me with surprise. "Well, they are known for their wonderful watchmakers—not to mention their fine jewelry." As the two men blinked in shock at my sudden insight on stores, I rolled my eyes a little. "It's right there," I pointed, causing the two men's shoulders to sag in a sort of humiliation.

"I will say, Miss Watson, your observational skills are remarkable," Holmes smiled, offering me his arm to walk towards the shop. "Madison and Haig. They should be able to give us an address."

"There's one thing you failed to deduce from the watch, Holmes," my brother called from behind us.

"Really? I think not."

I could feel John rolling his eyes as he explained, following us down another alley to the shop we had spoken of earlier. "The _time_. I have to get back, Holmes. Taking tea with the in-laws."

As Holmes snorted in disapproval, a woman smoking a pipe called from the shadows, "Can I predict your future, sir?"

"Absolutely not," the detective replied.

John and I sighed before politely interpreting together, "No, thank you, ma'am."

However, she insisted, trailing behind us and paying specific attention to my brother. "You need to hear what I have to tell you."

"We have no need of your lucky hella, Gypsy women!" Holmes declared, letting John pass us to speak to her.

"Even if it's to do with Mary?" the Gypsy called, making my brother stop and Holmes and I to exchange a look of surprise. I saw John's shoulders slack as the Gypsy came over, taking his hand and turning it over to look at his palm. "Oh, I see two men. Brothers. Not in blood, but in bond."

John glanced up at Holmes before looking back at the woman holding his hand. "What of Mary?"

The Gypsy traced a line down his palm, studying. "M for Mary, for marriage. Oh, you will be married."

My brother nodded, his eyes bright with curiosity and concern. "Go on."

"I see…patterned table cloths, and oh, china figurines and ugh! Lace doilies…"

"Mmm," Holmes mused. "Dollies."

My gaze snapped to him as all the pieces fit together. "Lace…" I began.

"…doilies," my brother finished before glaring at his flat mate. "Holmes. Does your depravity, know no bounds?"

Holmes paused for a moment before replying. "No."

I swatted him on the arm as the Gypsy continued, now obviously scripted. "Oh, she turns fat, and, oh, she has a beard…"

"And what of the warts?" Holmes inquired, dodging my arm.

"Oh, she's covered in warts!" the Gypsy agreed.

John shook his head. "Enough, enough."

"Are they ex_tensive_?" Holmes cried, catching my fist but not my foot as I stomped on his toes, making him wince.

"Please, enough!" John replied, snatching his hand away as the woman puffed at her pipe.

Holmes walked back to my brother's side, leaning heavily on me with an exaggerated limp. "It's the most apt prediction, Flora's made in years." the Gypsy nodded as her name came back into my mind and Holmes kept on. "And precisely the reason you can't find a suitable ring."

Something caught John's eye, and a small smile came to his face. "Do you have my money?" he inquired.

The detective, however, was not through making his case. "You are terrified of a life without the thrill of a macabre."

"Do you have my cut?" John repeated.

"Admit it, admit it!"

"Give me my money!"

I sighed, exasperated. "You two—!"

"Holmes," my brother spoke, his voice calmer as the detective and I turned around, finding what John was looking at: A sign in our watchmaker's store that read, "Large Selection of Engagement Rings for Any Wallet."

"Oh. I see." Holmes' voice was soft as he pulled the notes from his coat pocket, handing them to John.

"Thank you," he replied, the three of us edging by Flora to get to Madison and Haig.

As we stepped inside, I followed John to look at the rings whilst Holmes pulled out the pocket watch to see what could be done. "Look at them all," I whispered, for once being entranced by the glittering bands.

John sighed, clearly out of his depth. "I don't even know where to start looking."

I rolled my eyes. "Men. Where would you be without women?"

"Hopelessly lost," John quipped as I guided him to a table filled with rings closer to his price range. "What about that one?" he asked, pointing to one in the center.

My eyes were quick to find it: a large ruby surrounded by a wreath of diamonds. "John…" I breathed. "That's perfect."

"The ruby in the center, sir?" the gentleman manning the counter inquired.

John looked to me one more time as I nodded in approval before handing over the notes. "Yes, please. Thank you."

As the three of us exited the shop, Holmes picked up the conversation with John. "Well, you've got your ring, and I've got the address for the ginger midget. Should be just there."

My brother looked at the ring box one last time before putting it in his pocket. "I think she'll really like this," he smiled, bouncing some coins in his hand. "And I have some change in my pocket."

"Should I look after it for you?" Holmes inquired as we both watched my brother's eyes trail towards a sort of game on the side of the alley.

John snapped himself out of his revere. "No, no."

"Need some company?" I inquired to Holmes, the detective smiling softly and nodding in consent.

"Don't give it away here," he called to John, referring to his change, of course.

"No! I have to go see Mary," John insisted.

Holmes nodded, guiding me towards a hidden door in the alley. "Give her my best," he called, "And the family as well." With that, he opened the dark double-doors.

I felt a chill race down my spine as I looked into the emptiness, steeling myself. "Are you sure it's here?" I asked, feeling uneasy.

"Quite positive," Holmes replied, gently tapping my knuckles as they gripped his arm again. "The closer we get to finding evidence, the sooner we catch him again."

I took a deep breath, then stepped through the doors.


End file.
